


Devil Worship

by timelymeanwhile



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: (Literal) Power Play, Blow Job, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, F/M, Missing Scene, Psychological Manipulation, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelymeanwhile/pseuds/timelymeanwhile
Summary: Madison is determined to demonstrate her gratitude to Michael, and gets much more than she bargained for.





	Devil Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd write a fic for this ridiculous show but couldn't resist. Indulge me. (As I clearly indulge myself.)
> 
> This can be considered a missing scene at Hawthorne School in the "Boy Wonder" episode.

"He pushes people’s buttons, he tempts them and seduces them and brings out their greatest fears and desires... The places in a person they try to keep hidden... ([x](https://variety.com/2018/tv/features/cody-fern-american-horror-story-apocalypse-interview-1202976609/)) He really leans into whatever the person is feeling in their heart and in their body and that's his sexuality. That's what turns Langdon on." ([x](https://www.tvguide.com/news/american-horror-story-apocalypse-cody-fern-michael-langdon/))

* * *

_"What's the catch? Do I have to blow you or something?"_  
_"No."_  
_"Oh. Okay. Well, when we get out of here... Can I anyway?"_

* * *

What was wrong with Michael Langdon? 

She couldn't really blame him for not wanting to take her up on her offer to suck him off when she was all dressed up as Hell's most hideous discount store reject, but now that she was back to her witchy, bitchy best and looking like a million bucks he still had the nerve to just stand there staring at her with that aloof, slightly annoyed little smirk on his face, acting like he didn't even find her attractive. 

It was infuriating. And arousing.

So he was some super powerful warlock who had a grudge against witches? Whatever. Misogyny was so unoriginal. Not that Madison was, like, some bra-burning feminist or anything boring like that—she could think of way better things to burn than _bras—_ but she was pretty sure most men on the planet hated women at least a little bit, magic or not, and that obviously wasn't going to stop her from sleeping with them. If she'd refused to have sex with any man who'd ever said anything sexist, she would have definitely died a virgin.

Was Michael a virgin? Maybe that was it. Not a lot of opportunity for getting laid in an underground magic school for boys, unless... 

Was he gay? He was probably gay.

Only one way to find out.

"Look," she said in her most seductive voice, leaning against the doorframe in her most provocative pose, "it just wouldn't be right not to show you how grateful I am for the rescue."

Michael's eyes didn't leave her own—didn't flit down to the cleavage on display for him for even a second—as he said in that cool, even voice, "I thought I made it clear your _gratitude_ isn't necessary."

Madison shot him a smirk of her own and stepped forward, waving a hand as she did so—the door slammed shut. God, the feeling of magic at her fingertips again was intoxicating. It made her hungry. Right now, she felt like she could devour the entire world, then lick her lips and ask for more.

Maybe the hunger was literal? Coming back from the dead always did spark an appetite. Queenie was probably off stuffing her face somewhere. 

Well, Madison was about to stuff her face, too, but she was craving something a little more solid than food.

Food could wait until after she'd tasted some warlock cock.

"You also made it clear that pretending to be _good_ isn't necessary, either," she said now, stepping closer with every word until she was standing directly in front of Michael. "So let's cut the bullshit. Your innocent little choir boy act isn't fooling me."

Something that might have been amusement flickered across his impassive features, so quickly that she might have imagined it. "Act?" he repeated, turning the word over with his tongue.

"That's right," Madison smirked up at him. He really was _aggressively_ handsome. Looking at all that radiant facial symmetry so close up was like being slapped in the face with beauty, or staring straight into the sun. He'd be right at home in a museum, in one of those Renaissance paintings—as an angel, maybe, or a saint.

Honestly, how could he think she _wouldn't_  automatically realize he didn't belong down there? Nobody that pretty belonged in Hell.

Aside from Madison, of course.

"You may have the rest of those idiots fooled," she went on, trailing a light, freshly manicured hand down the buttons of his shirt and barely resisting the urge to rip it open with the flick of a finger, "but I see right through you."

"Oh?" Michael was so still he might as well have been made of stone. Shattering all that cold detachment was going to be _so_ satisfying. "What do you see?"

"I see someone too afraid of what he wants to actually take it." They were so close now that their chests were almost touching. He smelled like apples and oak and something smokier, something almost... burning. She drew a breath. It was getting a little difficult to focus. "You obviously have a whole lot of power you don't know what to do with," she continued, forcing herself to concentrate on words, "and a whole lot of frustrated, pent-up energy you need to release. So let it out on me." She leaned in with a knife-edged smile. "I can take it."

Something about Michael's stare was starting to creep her out a little. Something... _eerie..._ sort of emanating from his eyes as he said, "I'm not so sure you can."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," snapped Madison. "You have no idea what's been done to me—or what I've done."

Finally: a spark of interest in that unnerving gaze. "What have you done?"

"Enough to land me in Hell," she said, forcing out a dismissive shrug. "But thanks to _you,_ my inevitable eternal torment has been been put on hold for a few more years, and I don't plan on wasting a single second." Her eyes moved deliberately downward, settling on the package she couldn't wait to unwrap. "You went down to Hell for me," she finished coyly. "It's only fair that I go down on you in return."

"I didn't go to Hell and back for _you._ " He tilted his head, considering her—like she was some puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. "No one asked for you. No one wanted you. I only brought you back to show I could."

Madison swallowed an annoying pang of hurt and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I get it. You only got me out of Hell so you could be a petty bitch to Cordelia. So what? I'm a petty bitch, too. And you don't have to give a fuck about me to fuck me."  

Now she definitely wasn't imagining the amusement on his face. His smile made him seem almost... sweet. "Clever," he said softly. "You're a clever girl, aren't you, Madison?"

She shrugged, tossing her hair with practiced indifference. "Brains, beauty, and talent. It's my curse."

Michael reached up a hand to touch her hair—lifting up a long blonde strand with an odd, probing expression. "They only ever want you for your beauty, though—isn't that right?" Madison opened her mouth, then closed it again—fixated on the long fingers stroking her hair. "Your parents, raising a broken little doll who only sought to please. Your directors, stripping that doll's clothes off for their pleasure. The boys... All those boys."

Madison drew a shuddering breath. He was pacing around her now, still smiling slightly as she followed him with widened eyes. "What did it feel like?" he implored. "Using your powers to strike at those who made you powerless... Those explosive few seconds of murderous rage." That smooth, lilting voice was almost hypnotic. "Did it feel good, to crush them? To burn them to a crisp? Did it _excite_ you?"

Madison's heart was pounding: blood humming with desire; magic rising up within her, thrumming just beneath the surface. Michael had to feel it, too, because he was almost pulsating with it— _power_ was radiating from him like some kind of designer cologne.

What the  _fuck._

His warm fingers were dancing along her collarbone now, heat scorching across her skin in the wake of his touch. "Did you feel powerful," he continued, hot breath vibrating at her ear, "fucking a dead boy to feel alive?"

Madison's lips barely moved as she breathed out, "Who told you that? Any of that? Was it Zoe?"

Of course it was. God, she was going to show  _that_ bitch 'murderous rage'...

"No one told me, Madison," said Michael, trailing a finger down her jawline now as her breathing quickened. "It's written all over your face, all over your magic—all the wicked things you've done." He caught her face in his hand and tilted her chin up to look at him, catching her in his thrall. "Killer. _Murderess._  You, Madison Montgomery, are a wicked, wicked witch."

Okay, thought Madison, taking a deep, steadying breath: apparently he was into kinky roleplay shit.

Usually she preferred the _other_ role, but hey—she could work with that.

"You're right," she said aloud, lowering her eyes submissively and smirking up at him through her eyelashes. "I need to be punished."

Michael gave a slight, tight smile. "Why would I punish you," he asked coolly, "when you're so good at punishing yourself?" His voice floated upward, sounding almost musical. "Touching fire, hoping it will burn. Numbing your pain with pleasure."

"I didn't come here for a therapy session," snapped Madison. Jesus Christ. If he'd rather mindfuck her than fuck her, she might as well just go get herself off.

Maybe then her head would stop spinning.

"No," he agreed softly. "You came here seeking absolution, the only way you know how... by offering your body." 

That icy gaze was so goddamn _intense_ she had to look away, and before she could even draw another shaky breath, he had her pressed up against the door—pinning her in place with some uncanny combination of magical dexterity and sheer physical strength. Madison jerked against him in a surprised full-body thrill, then froze: she could feel the force of his erection through all those layers of tailored black clothing, pressing hard against her hip.

Well, well, well. Hell- _oh,_ Mr. Langdon.

Not gay.

Maybe not straight, either, given that flawlessly tousled hair and those _impeccable_ Louboutin dress shoes, but definitely not gay.

Success was so close she could practically taste it.

"What would you say if I told you," he was saying—purring, really—"I don't _want_ your body." A thin smile played about the edges of his lips. "I want your soul."

Madison slowly and deliberately reached down to place her hand over the hard bulge in his slacks. "I would say you were a liar." Holy  _shit,_ he was big. She swallowed, and cooed out, "I would also say that's probably the most romantic thing anybody's ever said to me."

Michael leaned closer, brushing aside her hair. "Are you sure you want to play this game?" he breathed into her ear.

Madison's heart had to be racing hard enough for him to feel it hammering through her chest. Who exactly was seducing who here? He had  _totally_ stolen her role. "I love games," she managed to say out loud—adding with a dare in her eyes as he fixed her with another penetrating stare—"and I usually win them."

Michael stepped back so suddenly that Madison was half-convinced he'd just sped-up his movements with magic. (Now _t_ _hat,_ she thought fleetingly, could be an excellent skill in bed.) "On your knees, then, little witch," he said at last, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at her: Waiting. Challenging. Madison inhaled sharply, legs practically buckling right then and there. "Let's see how talented you really are."

Oh, challenge  _accepted._

Locking eyes with Michael, Madison stepped forward with two sharp clicks of her heels and slowly— _finally_ —knelt down at his shiny Louboutin-clad feet. The view was mouthwateringly familiar: this was how she'd first seen him, a tall, golden-haloed stranger staring down at her with a cool, expectant expression that made her _way_  wetter than she'd ever thought she'd be in Hell. Trailing both hands up his taut thighs as she smirked up at him, Madison could barely breathe with the thrill and the anticipation of it: that aloof, death-defying stranger was in  _her_ hands now. 

She had made him hard for her, and now she was going to make him scream for her.  _She_ was the one in control.

His slacks unbuttoned and unzipped themselves without so much as a snap of her fingers, and surprise flashed across those blank, angelic features. _Ha_ , thought Madison, savoring every ounce of emotion drawn out of that impassive mask—until his freed cock was directly in front of her face, and any gloating satisfaction died in her throat, replaced in an instant with obliterating lust.

He was  _enormous_ , with a thick pale-veined shaft that twitched as she dragged her eyes down its considerable length and a perfectly sloped pink head glistening with pearly pre-cum, practically crying out for her tongue.

It wasn't at all fair for his dick to be as beautiful as the rest of him.

Stirring herself out of carnal stupor—and oh my god she really _was_ out of practice if the sight of a big hard dick alone had the power to drench her panties (or would have, if she was wearing any)—Madison wrapped one tight hand around as much of his shaft as she could hold and sought out his balls with the other, massaging them between her fingers as she dragged a thumb across the slippery head of his cock. 

Carefully—almost reverently—she began to explore every gorgeous inch of him with her mouth.

Michael's own mouth tightened, a muscle clenching in his jaw, as her tongue danced up and around the velvet hardness of him, licking that tiny dip on the underside before sucking the head between her lips. When she simultaneously squeezed his balls and pressed a single finger to the smooth bit of skin behind them, his own lips parted involuntarily, letting out a low, sharp hiss.

Mm-hmm.

Not so out of practice after all. 

Still gazing up at him with a blazing look, Madison slid the entire silky length of him into her mouth in one skillful swoop and saw his eyes darken with desire before his hands shot out from behind his back to seize her hair.

Savoring the sensation of him pulsing in her mouth and hitting the back of her throat as she expertly suppressed a gag, Madison pressed her lips to the base of his cock in a vindicated kiss.

Victory had never tasted so sweet. 

The feeling of Michael's hands tightening in her hair as she sucked up and down his shaft while swirling her tongue around the head was too much: wrapping one thumb and forefinger around the bottom of his cock for added pressure, Madison used the hand that had been fondling his balls to reach under her dress and rub her clit.

Stars sparked behind her eyes as pleasure flooded her body—or, wait, no, not pleasure.  _Pain._

Michael had shoved her head down so that his entire dick was in her mouth again too quickly not to gag, and her wrists were _stinging:_  both her hands were now restrained behind her back with some kind of burning, crackling magic.

"I don't think so." He was speaking—way too evenly and smoothly; _way_  more calm than he had any right to be while she was literally choking around his cock. "This is about showing me your _gratitude_ , remember?"

Smug, sexy, totally enraging  _asshole._  Couldn't just lean back and enjoy the best blowjob he would ever experience in his entire fucking life without power-tripping out about it the second she tried to give _herself_ some pleasure.  _Men._

"Oh, I'll show you _gratitude,"_ she snarled—or tried to. More of a muffled, gagging groan than a snarl, really. It was a little hard to snarl with a massive dick down her throat. 

Michael's pupils, she saw as she glared up at him, were so dilated they were almost black, circled by pale irises lit up like blue flame. "You know, Madison," he said, pulling sharply at her hair as he forced her head down further while thrusting into her mouth, "there's a long, long tradition of witches worshipping the Devil." 

Madison was barely listening, too consumed with focusing on breathing through her nose to even think straight as he fucked her mouth with increasing force. Whatever magic he was using to keep her frozen in place—hands bound painfully behind her back, mouth wide open for his use—it was  _strong._

"Since you're so interested in punishment..." His oh-so-even voice was sounding pretty damn uneven, but Madison was hardly in a position to take any satisfaction from it _now_. "Do you know how they used to punish witches like you?" 

Reflexive tears were streaming down her cheeks and probably fucking up her makeup.  _Great._  Madison could only moan around him as he gave another rough thrust and briefly stilled inside her mouth. Just as she was seriously considering taking the opportunity to bite his dick off, he had released her at last and sent her spinning into the air, slamming against the far wall.

Madison had time to wipe her mouth and draw a single gasping breath before he was on her, trapping her against the wall with one hand pinning her arms above her head and the other wrapped around her throat. "They would strip you, publicly," he murmured into her ear. "Expose you in front of everyone." His hand moved down from her throat to the plunging neckline of her dress. With one quick, forceful movement, he had ripped it down, leaving her tits—pert and pink with flush—fully exposed for his viewing pleasure. 

Madison tried and failed to think of a single caustic comment or retort. She'd apparently forgotten how to speak. Hell, she might have forgotten how to _breathe._

"They'd examine you," Michael went on with a mocking look of appraisal, ignoring her writhing and whimpering against him, ignoring his own erection pressing urgently against her stomach, "for a witch's mark." His fingers brushed across the swell of her breasts and twisted a nipple—wringing out a moan from her lips. 

"The spot on a witch's body where the Devil himself had kissed her," he clarified, voice gone all rhythmic and lilting like he was telling her some kind of creepy dark fairytale as he teased and groped her, "leaving a permanent sign of her obedience to him. Her service." Madison shivered as he pressed his mouth to the vulnerable nape of her neck and flicked his tongue out, biting at the skin. His breath was so hot it felt almost _scalding;_ hot enough to burn straight through her skin and set her veins on fire.

"They would whip you," she dimly heard him say before white-hot streaks of pain lashed across her tits. "Flog you." Sharp red lacerations appeared on her bare chest, and Madison gasped—a bubble of hysteria clawing at her throat.

Michael held fast as she struggled against him, parting her legs with his own. With a wave of his hand, the skirt of her dress flew up above her waist, exposing the glistening wetness between her thighs.

Arms still caught above her head, Madison instinctively strained toward him now as he dragged his cock over her slit. Michael's lips curved upward.

"They would take a sharpened instrument and press it to your wet little  _cunt,_ " he hissed into her ear, ignoring her shocked, thrilled little shiver at the _vulgarity_ spilling from those angelic lips, "and  _then,_ Madison Montgomery..." The head of his cock was at her entrance, parting her slick folds. "They would impale you."

He sheathed himself inside her with one vicious thrust, and Madison screamed into his shoulder, biting down hard as he lifted her off the ground with magic and thrust deeper—stretching her so completely, filling her with  _heat_ so fully, that for one annihilating second she was sure she'd burst into flames.

Flames, in fact, seemed to dance around the corners of her vision, just out of peripheral sight but visible through that inhuman glow in Michael's eyes. A single panicked thought flashed across Madison's mind:  _I'm still in Hell._

She shut her eyes, near-hyperventilating, but—"Look at me," he ordered crisply.

Madison's eyes snapped open with a ragged gasp as he pushed further yet, impaling her with slowly building rhythm. His gaze was boring into hers with such intensity that she was almost convinced he could see into her mind, and his eyes weren't just dilated, they were entirely  _black._

The hand not restraining her arms ghosted up her leg, trailing up and past her thigh, massaging and kneading as it went—she couldn't contain a pleading whine, spasming around him as he thrust harder. 

"So tense," he told her with mock concern, lifting her up further and wrapping her legs tight around him.

"Go to Hell," she half-snarled, half-moaned. 

Michael laughed into the hollow of her throat, biting at her collarbone as he pounded into her with unrelenting savagery—stimulating that soft knot of pleasure within her and slamming into her cervix in quick successive alterations of pain and pleasure. 

Pressure was building inside of her, pushing her toward the precipice with such force that she could barely breathe, and with another brutal thrust, it burst: release rolled through her in hot waves as she clenched desperately around his cock. 

A final crushing wave, and Michael was coming, too—seizing her to him with a hissing groan and filling her up with cum that felt scorching hot.

When he finally inched his softening cock out of her and took his lips off her collarbone, Madison nearly screamed: through a hazy filter of pleasure, that angelic, perfect face appeared bone-white... monstrous... _demonic._

"Who are you?" she managed to gasp out, wrenching away in a frantic surge of magical force and stumbling to the floor.  _"What_ are you?"

"Oh, Madison... Don't you know?" His face was beautiful again, with a hint of that sweet smile tugging at his mouth. She'd imagined it. Obviously. Of _course_ she'd imagined it. 

Maybe she hadn't made it back from the dead again all in one piece, after all.

Maybe she had lost her fucking mind.

"It's alright," Michael soothed, bending down to smooth back her hair with surprising tenderness. Dazed and out of breath, Madison leaned into the touch—almost sobbing with the heady rush of it all. "You will, soon enough. You all will."

Running a simmering hand down the length of her torso, he tilted her head back with the other and breathed into her ear, "I am the beginning and the ending." His fingers found the sore, dripping wetness between her legs and dipped inside—drawing out another aching orgasm as his thumb circled her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut again; hands entwining desperately in his golden hair. "I am the first and the last." A beckoning curl of the two fingers inside of her, and Madison came again with a soft, strangled sob as he finished: "I have the keys of Hell and of death." 

When she opened her eyes with a shuddering gasp, she was kneeling at Michael's feet in the center of the room again as he stood impassively over her with his hands clasped behind his back, fully dressed and inhumanly composed—not a single tousled hair out of place. Looking down in a daze, Madison saw her dress was fully intact, no longer ripped open—and the exposed skin of her cleavage was smooth and unblemished, unmarred by magical red marks.

It was almost as though nothing that had happened in the past twenty minutes had happened at all.

"What..." Her voice was all _shaky_ and sounded like broken glass. Jesus. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she croaked out, "What just happened?"

Michael raised a brow, expression unreadable. "You were giving me quite the show."

Madison stared in confusion, then followed his gaze down to her right hand: fingers glistening with what she recognized at once as her own juices. Um. _What?_

"Go on, Madison," said Michael in a soft, clipped tone. "Suck it off."

Slowly—unsure what she was doing, unsure _why_ she was doing it, as if he had just put her under Concilium, and maybe he _had_ —Madison raised her fingers to her lips and sucked them into her mouth, licking off her own fluids: eyes locked onto Michael's as she swallowed.

"Good girl," he told her softly. "That's your problem, isn't it? Deep down, you're such a very _good_ girl." Madison took a step backward, feeling distinctly lightheaded. "Most people pretend to be better than they are, but you... You pretend to be _badder."_ Something venomous sparked in his eyes. "You can stop pretending now." His next words made all the air sweep out of her lungs: "You're not that good of an actress."

Magic exploded out of her in a volatile rush of instinct, sending her staggering backward with its strength as Michael was sent spiraling into the air and onto the bed. She was straddling him in an instant with both hands wrapped tight around his throat, hissing out, _"Shut up."_  

He was smiling, seeming about to speak—she strengthened her grip with magic and squeezed tighter, watching his eyes go bloodshot, watching his face turn red, watching his golden hair and soft features morph into _Kyle's_ —and then she was thrown aside and pinned face-down beneath him on the bed, the entire length of his body pressing her easily into the pillows.

"You can't hurt me." There was laughter in the soft, silky cadence of his voice: he sounded _way_ less hoarse than he should have been after being half-strangled. "I own your soul."

Madison twisted out from under him, Transmuting herself across the room before she'd even realized that she'd done it. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to get away, to _run_.

"Last time I checked," she seethed, breathing hard, "we're not in Hell anymore." And _whatever_ the fuck had just happened, she was pretty positive Michael had received enough  _gratitude_ for a whole new lifetime, so: "I don't owe you anything."

Michael was sitting up now—all calm, cool, and collected once again—glancing up at her through half-lidded eyes as he adjusted his collar. "Whatever you need," he quoted sleekly, "I will do it." He tilted his head. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah, I said a lot of things to get out of Hell," snapped Madison, spinning on her heel and heading for the door, head clearing with each step away from Michael and his magical mind games—feeling more like herself again by the second. "Not my fault if you believed them."

She was already halfway to the door when the actual original purpose of her trip to Michael's room finally flooded back into her memory. "And by the way," she turned back to tell him, dimly congratulating herself on making her voice sound so  _normal_ even as she couldn't quite meet those ice-blue eyes, "Cordelia's awake. She wants to see you." 

"Does she?" An expression Madison couldn't quite place flitted across Michael's face. "I'll be right down, then. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting." The light caught his eyes and made them glint, made them almost... glow. "She is the Supreme, after all."

Madison shot him a final sarcastic smile and practically lunged for the door.

"Oh, and Madison?" She froze with her hand on the doorknob. "Don't feel too bad about losing our little game." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I didn't exactly play fair." 

Madison flung open the door and slammed it shut again, heart pounding—waiting for her racing pulse to settle before setting off down the hallway toward the stairs.

And if her steps were a little unsteady, if her entire body ached and throbbed, if the specific spot on her neck where she could have sworn Michael had kissed her was stinging as if Kyle had just throttled her or Fiona had just sliced open her throat...  _Well._

Coming back from the dead always did take some adjustment.

**Author's Note:**

> "I am the beginning and the ending; I am the first and the last; I have the keys of Hell and of death," are lines from the Book of Revelation.
> 
> Please blame any sloppiness on the wine I was drinking as I wrote this. Ha.


End file.
